


You Know I'm Fond of Lizzie

by Lakeylou



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakeylou/pseuds/Lakeylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be a three parter. It is set after the season 3 finale and focuses on Red & Lizzie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Blacklist or the characters. I've sort of brushed over Kirk and Tom and the task force here lol because I have no clue what will happen. I tried to put more agnst in this lol but I think it just turned into fluff. There will be a second part in a few days. Thanks!

In Cuba, dressed in white, Liz asks Tom how Reddington is. It isn't the first thing she asks him, but it is one of the first things she _wants_ to ask him. She tells Tom not to lie to her, not to sugarcoat anything. Because she wants, needs, the truth. Just how badly had her 'death' affected him? How much suffering had she caused? Aram. Ressler. Cooper. Samar. Red. Tom focuses on Agnes, rocks her in his arms and shrugs. He is reluctant to answer her question; he believes it will do no good. Tom knows Reddington hasn't handled her death well, but no one has.

"What's he..." Liz steps closer, slants her chin down to get him to look at her. "What's he been doing?"

"Liz..."

"Tom. I need to know."

"Why, Liz?" Tom looks up at her and shakes his head. "We need to- we can't think about that. You can't think of them because the guilt, Liz, it will eat away at you. You did what had to be done." He tries to reassure her and takes a hand out from underneath Agnes. He grasps Liz's hand and squeezes it. "Talking about Reddington isn't going to help. I know this is hard, but we have Agnes to think about now."

"I get that," Liz tells him. "I do. But i still need to know. Despite everything," Liz sighs, brings her thumb up to her mouth and chews on the orange nail. That guilt Tom had mentioned is already feasting on her. "Reddington and I..."

"You loved him," Tom says.

There is no point lying. Tom had been there in the makeshift hospital room; he had heard her tell Red that she loved him.

"Yes."

Tom wouldn't understand, wouldn't try to understand, but thankfully he makes no comment. Instead, he lets go of her hand and rubs at his forehead.

"He was gone for awhile... I don't know where. Then he turned up at your apartment, was looking through your things. I told him to go away. I didn't want him around Agnes, Liz. That was our plan, remember? Then he did what he always does. Started making plans to take down Kirk. You know i don't like him, but at least he wanted the same thing I did. To get the guy that did this to you."

Red is looking for vengeance. She had tricked a man who would stop at _nothing_  to protect her. How far would he go now? In the short time she had to agree to this idea, she didn't think about Red's state of mind following it.

He would become reckless.  

"Liz?"

"I'm feeling bad," Liz admits, stares at the wooden floorboards. Her orange toe nails stare back at her. Here she is in Cuba, in the sun and by the surf. "And not just for Reddington, but for everybody... Aram and Ressler..."

"Hey," Tom gets her attention. He tugs her hand and passes her Agnes. "Hold your daughter, Liz. And you'll understand why you did it. Why we had to."

 

* * *

 

She knows he will come for her.

The thought that he won't crosses her mind only once. And it crosses during a dream. He sat on the couch in her living room and did not move. She called to him over and over and he wouldn’t answer. _Red. Please. I know i hurt you, but say something, anything. You can't be in my house and not talk to me. You can't sit there, Red, and not talk to me._ She sat on the couch next to him, much closer than she would in reality, and she reached for his hand. She wasn't quick enough though, or Red pulled away, she can't remember, but she sunk into the cushion. Liz felt herself falling into darkness, a deep black hole in the couch. But then Red's hand was there holding hers.  _Red. Raymond. I need to say i'm-_  But then Red let go, and she woke shivering and frightened and _very_ confused. 

It is the only dream she has had of him; all the rest are about Agnes.

A lot of the time she lays awake thinking about _everything_. Surprisingly, little of her time at night is spent thinking about her captor, thinking about who he is to her. Alexander Kirk claims to be her father. She isn't sure what to believe, but she has a room and a bed and a firmly bolted, double-locked door. There is nothing else in the room; she has looked for something every moment there is light through the glass square on the high ceiling. It is the only window the room has, but each day she is taken down stairs for various tests. Her blood has been taken; it makes her light-headed, but Alexander feeds her well.  

Red does come for her, and he had found Agnes too.

 

* * *

 

 Their reunion is very… brief.

Red storms into the Victorian style house, shoots and kills six of Kirk's men before Liz has the chance to turn her head in his direction. The young nurse next to her drops to the ground screaming, and Liz takes the time to retrieve the gun from the dead guard next to her. She whispers at the uninjured woman, tells her to run. 

Seeing Red saunter in as if he owns the property makes Liz feel the safest she has felt in _weeks_. Her heart thumps in her chest at the sight of him, and his eyes are on her within seconds. There is something there, in his face, that has her bursting to run to him. She wants to run to him and curl up against his chest and underneath the coat he wears. 

“Masha,” Kirk says, lengthening each vowel in the name. He sounds betrayed, as if Liz - the woman _he_ had kidnapped - has betrayed him so terribly. “You wouldn’t shoot your own father, would you?”

It is one of the worst things he could say. Because she has already shot her father, hasn’t she? Liz blinks at his words and fire and smoke and her parent's voices shrill in her four-year old ears. Her vision blurs as she fights to rid of the memory. She doesn't want to remember _that_  moment ever again. And that is why Red had her memories erased. It is something no one would want to remember. 

She glares at this man, Alexander Kirk, because she has a gun in her hand, and it gives her power. She reminds herself he is armed too. But the gun in her grip feels familiar and the weight of it feels good. Even so, it doesn’t stop her hand from shaking.

She would shoot this man, Father or not.

Dembe is no where to be seen. Liz can't see any members of Red’s team. It is only him and her. The FBI have not followed him in. She knows Red would have had plan, but he no longer holds a gun, so she thinks that perhaps his plan hasn't quite worked out the way he had intended it to. It blows her mind how Red has managed to actually get into the building. Alexander’s security team is, or _was_ , tight and hostile. She had been very vocal when she was led down the stairs each day. She wanted information; she wanted someone to tell her what the hell she was doing here. No one budged. Alexander talked but never about anything of importance. He mentioned nothing of her childhood, nothing about her mother. He told her absolutely nothing, so it wasn’t hard to not believe him.

And then Red speaks. 

“Hello, Elizabeth.”

Sometimes in Cuba, when she had waited for Tom to arrive with Agnes, she thought of this moment. Not here with Alexander Kirk and a dead man at her feet, but she thought of Red saying her name again. Funny, considering she truly believed she would never see him again. Or perhaps she didn't. Perhaps some part of her, her subconscious, knew she would see him again. 

She expected him to sound different, but he says her full name the exactly same way he always does. The use of Elizabeth instead of Lizzie does sting a little.

"It's Masha," Kirk responds for her.

“Put your gun down,” Lizzie says to Kirk, but the man laughs, ignores her and wiggles his gun towards Red.

“Masha. You told me you wanted to run away from him. That he had ruined your life. That Raymond Reddington had _destroyed_ your life. Why not, hmm? We could take turns.”

She hadn’t said any of those things to him.

And Red is still looking at her.

“I said put the gun down!”

At her loud shout, Red turns from her and smiles at Alexander. He folds his hands in front of him and begins to babble on about insignificant things as if he is completely oblivious to the finger Kirk has hovering over the trigger of his gun. In his usual theatrics, Red compliments Kirk on his house furnishings, tries to interpret some ugly painting hanging on the back wall and apologizes for being so rude for not removing his shoes when he notices Alexander in socks and Lizzie in bare feet. It is only when Lizzie starts to side step over to Red and plant herself directly in front of him, that he stops talking.

“Elizabeth,” he warns her between closed teeth. “Get behind me.”

Lizzie isn’t overly confident Kirk won't shoot her, but she is even less confident that he won’t shoot Red.

She doesn’t have the time to worry. The back row of stained-glass windows shatters. The door to the left of the room blows open and the air turns misty. Lizzie coughs. She hears Ressler’s voice shouting the FBI's entrance; she feels Red’s hands circle her waist and drag her backwards and behind him. And she hears the sound of a gun shot and the sound of Red’s low grunt.

As the air began to clear, Liz watches from behind as Red grips his upper arm then shakes his hand out. Blood drips from his fingers. Before she has the chance to reach him, Dembe is there and leading Red away from her. He doesn't look back. Lizzie tracks the blood with her eyes, but is rooted to the spot.

And she is left to greet Ressler and Samar.

 

* * *

 

Liz climbs the steps to Red’s new safe house and rubs at the scar on her wrist. She drags her thumb back and forth along the wrinkled skin so hard it begins to burn. She hasn’t been to this place before; it's in the middle of town and the street below is busy. Aram gave her the address along with another tight hug. There’s a dim light in the upstairs window, and it has her wondering whether Red is up there and will he come down to greet her? Or maybe he will send her on her way. Maybe he has already told Dembe he doesn’t want to speak to her tonight, tomorrow, or next week. She doesn't allow herself to think of Dembe telling her  _never._ And she doesn’t dare look up towards the window in case Red's silhouette stands there. At least if Dembe tells her he’s not available she can pretend Red’s just not home.

 _Pain_. She feels it now, on her wrist and stops digging her nail into the scar there. It’s also what she registered on Red's face when Dembe dragged him out of the building and towards the waiting car. Pain from the gash in his arm and pain because of her.

She knocks on the front door with a lot less effort than she usually does. Her nerves are well on display, even to Agnes who fights against sleep to watch her mother squirm and shift on her feet. She wonders if Agnes can sense her uneasiness, thinks that perhaps that’s why she’s not sleeping. Dembe opens the door to greet her, and he doesn’t look surprised to see her at all. He takes one large step to the side and gestures inside the house. It's warm, warm like wood is burning in a fire place, and it smells of black coffee.

“It’s good to see you are well Elizabeth.”

She is not even sure what to say to that. The term ‘sorry’ has been so overused in the last three hours the word now sounds strange on her tongue. Dembe has been with Red most days since her disappearance she suspects, and she knows he must think she is cruel. Liz attempts a smile and hopes he understands her silent apology. For now at least, it’s all she can manage. She is exhausted, but she can’t go back to her apartment. And she doesn’t know where else to go. The thing is, she doesn't feel welcomed here. Dembe is kind to her, forgiving, the hallway oozes of home and comfort, but she does not feel welcomed.

She knows what she's done, and she can't forgive herself. She won't let herself feel welcomed.

“Is he okay to talk?”

“He’s been with Mr. Kaplan most of the evening,” Dembe replies. He glances down at the baby carrier hanging from the crook her elbow. His white teeth peek between his lips as he smiles. “How is Agnes?”

“Very tired,” Lizzie responds. Her daughter’s eyelids are finally beginning to droop but they have yet to fully close. “Thank you for finding her.”

Dembe waits until he catches her eye before responding. “He would have never stopped looking for her. Or for you.”

“You must think I’m a terrible person.”

“No, Elizabeth. It is the last thing we think.”

And with that, Dembe stretches an arm to point up the stairs. “Raymond will want to see you.”

“Would you,” Lizzie lifts her arms slightly. “Can she stay with you? She’s almost asleep.”

Dembe nods and carefully takes the carrier which holds Agnes from her arms. “He’s through the first door on your right.”

“Thank you, Dembe.”

 

* * *

 

 

Elizabeth realizes as she’s half way up the stairs that Dembe had said Red would _want_ to see her. God, she hopes he is right. Out of everybody, out of all the people she needs to apologize to, make amends with, Red is the one she is afraid of the most. Things were strained between them weeks before her disappearance, and she's not sure how much further the band between them can stretch. She needs him now more than ever, wants him now more than ever. But is she really even allowed to _want_ that now? After everything she put him through, isn't it wrong of her to even think that? Red is all about loyalty and trust and she's thrown them around, stomped on them both.

“Hello Elizabeth,” Mr. Kaplan greets her from the top of the stair case.

The woman she was in cahoots with. Mr. Kaplan, Tom, and her. 

“Hi,” Liz remains still and waits for Mr. Kaplan to reach her. The woman looks flustered, worn-out, and Liz wonders how long she has been up there speaking to Red. 

“Elizabeth,” Mr. Kaplan nods to her again. “I’m sorry for thinking I could protect you and your daughter. I was foolish to think I could. I wasn't prepared for, or aware of the peril that followed. Forgive me.”

“No, no it’s not your fault,” Liz shakes her head firmly, feels guilty that Kaplan is apologizing. The older woman went to extraordinary measures to protect her. Risked everything to help her. Liz will forever be grateful for her efforts despite everything, despite the wrongness of it all. Liz knows that if there had been more time to think of options, she wouldn’t have gone through with it, and Mr. Kaplan wouldn't have either.

Kaplan’s eyes are wet behind her thin framed glasses. Liz wonders what she and Red had been discussing all evening. She reaches out and takes Kaplan’s hand in her own.

“Thank you,” Lizzie says, meaning it.

The woman nods once in reply and carries on down the stairs. Lizzie watches her go. Mr. Kaplan doesn't turn right in the direction Dembe had taken Agnes, she goes straight to the front door, and Liz wonders if she will ever see her again. Once the woman has disappeared, Liz's legs move on their own accord up the rest of the stairs. The door is slightly ajar when she reaches it. She knocks quietly to alert him then pushes the door open slowly.

Red is looking out the wide windows. He is aware of her presence, knows it's her not anyone else. She can tell by the way he stands straighter and the fabric along his shoulder blades tightens as he tenses. She wishes this was one of those times he would wait for on the couch in a room similar to this, one arm draped over the back of the couch, legs crossed. The room would be much lighter, and he’d say 'Lizzie!' in greeting and smile at her as if he hadn't seen her in weeks.

It is not very often that he is turned away from her when she comes to see him.

“Hey,” Lizzie greets to the back of his head. It comes out faint and unsure but she doesn’t care. It’s exactly how she feels and, right now, she needs to be completely honest and open with him. She hopes for the same in return, despite knowing she doesn't deserve it. She doesn't expect anything from him, just like he's never expected anything from her. 

Maybe he expected her not to leave him the way she did.

Red turns at her voice, blinks his eyes as if he’s only just realized how dark the room he stands in is. The small glow from the lamp does little to lighten the area. He stares at her for a moment, but it’s at her arms, her neck, her legs, his gaze doesn’t stop to meet her eyes.

“You alright?” He asks roughly, and he clears his throat as soon as the question leaves his lips.

“Yeah,” Liz responds and steps into the room. “Can I?” Her hand hovers over the light switch on the wall next to her and waits for his permission. She switches the light on when he nods and immediately hones in on his right shoulder.

“How is your arm?”

Red follows her gaze and looks down at his arm hanging loose at his side. He shrugs and Liz can see the thick bandage through the material of his shirt.

“It’s fine. Nothing to worry about… just a flesh wound.”

Lizzie steps further into the room. There’s no bed, just a couch, an armchair, bookcases and a television mounted to the wall. She had taken her boots off downstairs and the grey carpet is soft under her feet. The couch is a safe barrier between them, so she stands behind it, but it makes no difference anyway because Red is by the window and he doesn’t look like he wants to be any closer to her. He’s preoccupied by staring at her scarred wrist and she forces herself to not pull on the sleeve of her top self-consciously. Glancing down at the old burn, she notices specks of red blood. Her eyes widen and she hastily pulls on her sleeve to hide it. At her hurried movements, Red glances away.

After a moment, she looks towards him again.

“Mr. Kaplan looked upset…” She treads carefully . “Please don’t be angry with-”

“Don’t tell me how to feel, Lizzie.”

“I-” Lizzie stops herself. “I’m not.”

It’s both the abrupt way he says it and her nickname coming from his mouth for the first time in so long that startles her. His snappish tone seems to surprise him too, and he moves in slow, rigid steps towards the small desk in the corner of the room. His hands fiddle with the screw on a bottle of whisky and he prepares himself a drink. She watches in silence as he pours her one too, and when he comes over to pass it to her he finally, finally meets her eye. He’s careful not to touch her when she takes the glass, and she catches him wiping his palm on the thigh of his pants afterwards. She’s not sure what that means, and she eyes his hand for too long thinking about it.

“Did you get checked out at the hospital?” He asks her.

“Yes. Everything is fine…” Lizzie nods. She rests her free hand on the back of the couch and takes a small sip of the strong liquid. “He didn’t take that much blood.”

Red looks relieved.

“I’m glad you’re OK,” he tells her.

 

* * *

 

There’s an awkwardness in the room that neither one seems to be able to shake. Red doesn’t say much once she's assured him she's alright, and Lizzie can feel the tension in every long pause that follows their short utterances. Things need to be said, and she _knows_ it is up to her this time. And then it is his decision if he wants to hear her out. She walks around the side of the couch and looks at him as she lowers herself to sit. It must be just after eight, and she's not ready to leave yet, hopes he's not ready for her to leave yet.

“Can we talk?”

Red has a mouth full of whisky when he nods in agreement. He refills the empty tumbler in his hand, takes a sip, tops it up again, and follows her. There's no hesitation from him when he sits heavily into the armchair. The small seating decision is enough to make her eyes water. The couch she sits on is large enough for three or four people; they always sat together.

“How do you…" Liz looks down at her hands, her thumbs circle the rim of her glass. "How do you feel?"

“How do I feel?” 

“You told me to not tell you how to feel… I, I’d like to know how you feel.”

Red huffs out a laugh but it’s more a breath of air than anything. He winces when he looks at her, visibly winces right in front of her and it’s sort of all she needs to know. She stares at him. His wet eyes are pale green. His skin is pale white. The blue under each eye is  _not_ pale.

"I hurt you."

"Yes."

Lizzie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and bites down on it. She nods her understanding, appreciates his honest answer. She shuffles over on the couch, sits on the end closest to the chair he sits in. 

Leaning towards him, she says, “... I know me telling you that i didn’t want to hurt you seems... worthless. But i really didn't want to hurt you. It wasn't _you_ that i wanted to run from. Because you know that I … I don’t think of you as a bad person. I used to, yes. But i haven't for a long time." Lizzie wants to reach out and place her hand over his one that rests on the arm of his chair, but she decides against it. "It was… it was just that the danger that is – that is constantly encompassing your life… my life… and I thought of Agnes. And I could only think of her. I thought of no one else in that moment.”

Red looks at her intently, swallows thickly.

“No one can criticize you for thinking of your daughter’s future, Lizzie. And I’m certainly not going to.”

“Look where that decision got me.”

Red lifts his glass to his lips and downs the remainder of the liquid in it.

"Back here, with me," he says.

"That's not what i meant."

"Maybe not, but it is where you are, which brings me to ask: why are you here, Lizzie?"

Lizzie shakes her head.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” she whispers back, feels the tears begin to prick . “I put you through hell. Ressler told me you had disappeared-”

Red suddenly angles his head away from, blinks rapidly as he does. Liz clamps her mouth shut, lets the unfinished sentence hang between them. She sits back, alarmed. Ressler had told her Red had gone away for a while. Not even Dembe had known where he had gone. The air is cold between them. Not wanting to push him, she curls her hand around her own glass and stares into the amber liquor. She waits a moment, then starts again, changes the subject.

“I was confused. I know it's no excuse, but it's the only explanation along with wanting to keep Agnes safe that I've got. I was so confused about everything. And now I’m back i- I don’t know… I feel even _more_ confused if that’s possible. Agnes, Alexander Kirk… I mean, Tom he’s…”

“Working with his mother,” Red finishes for her.

“Working with his mother,” Lizzie nods her head. “That makes little sense to me right now.”

"I'm sure he will make contact with you."

Lizzie shakes her head at his comment.

"Thank you for saving me," she says.

The small, tender smile that grows on his face is enough to make her cry. 

"I knew you would come," she continues. "After everything I put you through," she doesn't even bother to wipe at her skin. "I still knew you would come."

"Of course, Lizzie."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red and Lizzie talk a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops so there will be one more chapter after this one now. Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist show or the characters. Thank you for comments and kudos!!!

Lizzie leaves her seat to refill both of their empty glasses. She hasn't done this before, pour him an alcoholic drink, but she takes her time pouring and makes sure not to drip any of the whisky down the neck of the bottle. It's only when the last drop of liquid falls into Red's glass that she wonders when the bottle was purchased. She places both glasses on the short table in front of them and slumps back into the couch cushion. Now that she's here, Liz can't fathom going back to her apartment. They haven't returned home yet, her and Agnes. After her hospital visit, where Agnes was brought to her by Charlene and Cooper, she went straight to the post office. Ressler had her car brought to her along with some necessities for Agnes. After a group talk with her colleagues, and a private talk with Cooper, she was put on extended leave. From there, her and Agnes went to Red's place. From here, they have to go home.

The couch she sits on now is more comfortable than the one Red gifted her new apartment. She has no reason as to why, but it is. Her hand pats the suede squab next to her and the dream she had while in the hands of Alexander Kirk haunts her for a moment. But this stuffed cushion doesn't split apart and swallow her whole.

"Is everything alright?"

Her head snaps up, and Red has his drink in his hand, and it's close to his lips, but he hasn't taken a sip. She contemplates telling him. It's nothing really, nothing but a silly dream that is meaningless.

"... I had a dream when I was at..."

She will ask him about Alexander but not tonight.

"At Alexander Kirk's," he offers.

"Yes. And I just remembered it again," she responds distantly, pulls her hand into her lap.

"A nightmare?"

"I guess you could call it a nightmare. If a couch swallowing you can be classified as a nightmare." She chuckles at the absurdity of it and leans forward to retrieve her own drink. She probably shouldn't drive home after this second glass, not on her empty stomach. She takes three sips before she looks at him again.

"Why did it swallow you?"

"I don't know, it was weird. You were in it, and you were sitting on the couch in my apartment," she glances at him, nervously. His eyebrows rise at the mention of him being a character in her dream. "You wouldn't talk or move, and so I sat next to you. And then the couch just... turned into some sort of never-ending hole and I fell in. It sounds bizarre, I know. But it just... stuck with me I guess. "

"I didn't help you?"

"Not in the dream, no."

After a short length of silence, Red clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

"That's disappointing," he tells her. "I'm sorry for being such a namby-pamby in your dream."

"I forgive you," she says with amusement.

Her grin falters once the words leave her mouth. She shouldn't throw that word around so aimlessly.

 

* * *

 

 

Red closes the curtains when the air around them chills. There is no fireplace in the room, but he turns on a small gas heater in the far corner and slides it as close to them as the chord allows. Every time one of them moves in the room silence follows and lasts until something mundane is muttered to fill the awkwardness. Everything is very cautious, even their movements are quiet and slow. Neither have spoken in a couple of minutes now, not since Red turned the heater on, and Lizzie begins to feel drowsy. It's a mix of the alcohol, the orange warmth next to her, and Red's placid mood that makes her feel safe enough to want to close her eyes and sleep. She wishes she brought Agnes up with her so her little girl could doze in her arms.

"Where do we go from here," Red says lightly, almost song-like, but with no intonation at the end of his thought.

He tilts his head to the side lazily as he watches her, and Lizzie imagines slipping a pillow between the side of his head and shoulder and telling him to sleep. He looks much like she feels. Red is not expecting an answer from her she knows, but even though she may not have a clear cut one, she knows in bullet points where she wants to go, what she has to do to get there. The little girl downstairs with Dembe is at the forefront of her mind, and she always will be. But this time she must think sensibly. Liz blinks her eyes a few times to rid of the sleepiness and straightens her back. Red must sense her change in mood because he too sits up a little straighter. Her eyes flicker to his wounded arm as he adjusts it carefully.

“I need to work out what to do now. Make a plan,” Lizzie tells him with resolution. She looks away from his arm and back at his frowning face. “Because I can’t let Agnes go. Not now… not now that I’ve finally gotten her back."

There were moments at night, sleeping in the square room at Alexander Kirk's, that Lizzie decided Agnes would be adopted. That when Liz was back home, where she belonged, she would call the adoption agency. The thought that Agnes might be missing, or something worse, was not allowed to cross her mind. Instead, Lizzie thought of safe havens for Agnes. Agnes would go to a family who could protect her like Lizzie and Tom couldn't, and a family who could love her as much as they did. But everything went downhill when Charlene placed her little Agnes into her arms at the hospital. Lizzie knew it wasn't going to happen, she couldn't let her go. The little girl bundled up in a pink and white blanket with a yellow beanie on her head would not be going anywhere.

"...And I’ve learned that running, hiding from this isn’t going to work,” she finishes uneasily.

Red leans forward and places his glass on the coffee table in front of them. She can tell he's tossing something around in his mind by the way his lips twist thoughtfully to the side. His hand on his good arm lifts in the wide space between them, and his fingers wiggle as if he's finding it difficult to order his words.

“If you give me some time, Lizzie, if it's what you really want, I can have you an Agnes away from all of this." His hand falls on his lap and he stares at her. "Set you up with a new life, somewhere no one would turn to look for you. But I’d need time, and it wouldn’t stop _you_ from looking over your shoulder.”

“No."

"No?"

"I don’t want that for Agnes," Lizzie responds, adamant. "You don't know how much I _appreciate_ that you'd do that for us after everything. But I've been thinking a lot," she continues. "And I want her to have ... a normal life. I want her be able to travel the world when she’s older, make friends and be able to be honest with all of them. I want her to get a job wherever she wants, here in Washington if she wishes-”

Four soft thuds on the door interrupt her.

"Dembe," Red says as the younger man pops his head through the door.

"I've made some tea." Dembe steps inside carrying a tray with two, steaming mugs and a plate of cookies. "Agnes is sound a sleep," he tells Lizzie.

"Oh," Liz feels a pang of guilt. The watch on her wrist tells her it's nine o'clock."I will come and take her soon."

"I am reading my book aloud to her," Dembe smiles. "And I will be reading for some time longer so there is no need to rush."

Lizzie returns his smile. "Well, you're in charge of all her library visits then," she jokes lightly. "Thank you, Dembe."

Dembe doesn't hang around. Once the tray is carefully placed in front of them he leaves the room quickly. Red and Dembe don't say anything to one another other than Red's initial greeting, and when Red doesn't thank Dembe for the tea, Liz wonders if there's something going on between them. Lizzie watches after Dembe, then looks at the tray in front of them.

"Is this a recent ... routine of his?"

Red leans forward and wraps a couple of fingers around the handle of one of the mugs. He passes it to her and takes the second one for himself.

"Dembe believes a warm cup of tea after a few fingers of whisky is crucial to my well-being. However, It does keeps me up half the night making trips to the bathroom."

Lizzie lets the warm drink heat her hands. Red is busy cooling down his tea with pursed lips and puffs of breath. She thinks about what he said. If Dembe has been bringing Red cups of tea late at night is it because Red's been drinking too much? Has Dembe slipped cookies onto a plate to keep Red eating?

"You must try one of these cookies. See if you can guess the secret ingredient; I had to eat half a dozen of them to work it out."

Lizzie stares at the tray of cookies, doesn't reach for one.

"Can I ask you something?"

Red brushes his mouth with the back of his hand to remove the cookie crumbs at each corner of his lips. He chews quickly, swallows, looks at her.

"What is it?"

"Why aren't you furious with me?"

Red shifts in his seat.

"I just ... I didn't expect to be here talking to you about chocolate chip cookies," she explains.

"Would you rather we talk about something else?"

"No, this is fine," she says and looks down into her mug. "But I ... I don't want you to think that you have to pretend with me... because you think that it's the right thing to do. I know you're hurt. So if you're angry or confused... if you have questions-"

"Angry?"

She glances at him, holds his gaze. "Yes. I don't know how you feel. And your acceptance or lack of questions ... Or something... I don't know. It has me worried. Are you angry, Red? At all?"

"No. Perhaps, with myself, yes. The situation. But anger towards you? No."

Lizzie stares at him, not knowing what to say. And then he gives in, or something, because he places his full mug back onto the table and begins to absentmindedly plucks at the brown throw covering the arm chair. He bobs his head.

''I... sat in that ambulance with you on your way to the hospital," He says. "You were completely under, would have no recollection of the trip. But I was next to you in the small space ... holding your hand, brushing the... hair from your forehead. I even squeezed air into the-" Red gestures around his own mouth and swallows uncomfortably. "Tom wasn't there which you probably already knew. The driver. Nik. And you and me ... No one else ... and I felt helpless, panicked. And then I watched you die."

He looks at her, his eyes nearly closed. "It's a confusing, painful thing to watch a doctor sit back in his seat and tell you no more can be done. That it's all over, someone's life. Just like that."

"Right now, Lizzie, I'm too relieved to feel anything else."

 

* * *

 

 

"I should probably go home."

"Yes," Red agrees, but he waits for her to stand before making any move himself.

Lizzie collects the tray Dembe brought in and grabs both empty mugs to place on it. Her hands are visibly shaking now, so she keeps fiddling with the tray, doesn't want Red to see her. She decides to put the empty tumbler glasses on it too, doesn't bother to ask whether he wants to keep his glass up here.

"I'll take the dishes down later, Lizzie."

"No, no, it's fine. I've got it."

"Lizzie," Red says firmly, like he can see and hear her sudden change in mood. She turns to see him standing behind her. "Leave it," her tells her.

Lizzie clears her throat and puts the tray down, sniffs quickly when the dishes rattle together.

"What's wrong?" he asks her softly.

She shakes her head at him.

"That's not going to work with me," Red says. He reaches out and rests his hand on her upper arm. "Are you upset because of what I told you?"

When she doesn't reply, he sighs, "I shouldn't have told you."

"No. I'm glad you told me... I _wanted_ you to. I just-" She shrugs, wipes at her eyes with her fingers. "It's hard to hear."

Red smiles at her, steps closer. "Do you know what I find is a good cure for things that are hard to hear?"

"No. What?" Lizzie sniffs, uses her sleeve to wipe her eyes this time.

Red wraps his uninjured arm around her left shoulder and gently tugs her to him.

"Mm," he murmurs and rests his chin on the top of her head.

Lizzie squashes her face into his chest, closes her eyes and slips her arms around his back.

 

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agnes and Liz go back to Lizzie's apartment. The final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cough .... Cough.... I've been reading lizzington and thinking lizzington but this. Just. Would. Not. Come. Out. It's a pretty shoddy finish tbh. Apologies for the lateness! I do not own the blacklist or the characters, of course...

Lizzie follows Red out of the upstairs room and down the stairs. He had suggested that Dembe drop her home as soon as she released him from their hug. It was an abrupt suggestion from him, slipped from between his lips in a cool rush. A different feel entirely to his soft, drawn-out embrace. She agreed to the ride home without protest; she'd had too much alcohol to drive, and the tea and cookies she had only managed to make her sleepy. Lizzie craved a deep, safe sleep with Agnes next to her but still wasn't looking forward to her apartment. So much has happened since she was last there and she hasn't occupied the place long enough for her to call it a home. The morning of her wedding was Liz's last time there; Tom at her side in the morning, Agnes in her belly.

And now Liz stares at the back of Red's white shirt. After everything, she has found herself back here, with him. She knows the front of his shirt is tear-stained from her eyes and wrinkled from her fists, but the back is clean and pressed. It's the sort of attire some would wear to a wedding, a funeral, but Red wears them most days. Did Red go to her funeral? She had a _funeral_.

"Lizzie?"

"Coming."

Red eyes her as she steps heavily down the last few steps towards him. With an outstretched arm he gestures down the hall towards the living room. He makes no movement there himself, and Lizzie doesn't want to ask him to go with her, so she nods and slips past him.

“Thank you."

"Hey," he stops her, can't seem to help himself.

She turns and presses her lips into a smile.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yep."

* * *

In the living room, Dembe is watching the late night news and an open book straddles his right thigh. Liz can see Agnes in her carrier on the couch next to him; her eyes are closed.

"She fell asleep soon after you arrived."

Liz slides her socked covered feet on the wooden floor around the back of the couch. She touches the blanket Agnes is covered with, then brushes the back of two fingers against Agnes' pink cheek. Agnes' eyelids twitch for a moment, the little fingers on her right hand curl in a loose fist, then she stills again.

"Thank you for watching her," Liz thanks him quietly, completly enamored by her daughter again and again.

Dembe watches the two of them then turns the television off and stands from the couch. He stretches his arms in front and above him and leans his body to look out the open door and down the hall.

"I think he's in the kitchen," Lizzie says, removing her eyes from Agnes.

Dembe places his novel on the shelf next to him and glances at the clock behind Liz.

"Would you like me to drop you home? We'll have your car to you first thing in the morning."

"That would be great," she covers a yawn with her hand. She blinks a couple of times to keep awake and smiles at Dembe again.

Agnes snuggled under her blankets looks so peaceful here on the couch, and Liz doesn't want to move her. Lizzie is not worried about needing her car. Going out into the public and conversing with people is the last thing she feels like doing, despite knowing she needs to get back to some sort of normalcy - and it would probably be good for her to get back on track as quickly as possible. She doesn't want Agnes to sense her uneasiness. And she will need to do some shopping anyway, buy Agnes some things. She'll walk to the store in the morning, she decides sleepily. Fresh air will do both her and Agnes some good.

"Thanks Dembe."

"I will let Raymond know."

"Uh... Dembe?" Lizzie calls. She thinks of the cookies and tea he had brought up earlier; Dembe's unbreakable loyalty, his worry and love for Reddington is so nice to remember.

"Thank you for looking after _him_ ," she says.

* * *

Lizzie stay a few minutes in the living room to gather herself and steal another look at Agnes. Then she decides to get her shoes on and wait near the front door. Agnes is still asleep and, even though Liz knows she should leave her be, she caves into temptation and removes Agnes from her carrier. She holds her in her arms, sways her gently, and thinks that little Agnes has been through quite an ordeal herself. Her little fighter. She will have to get use to her daughter's sleep schedule but hopes she sleeps through tonight. But then again, Liz knows she hersef won't sleep well, so maybe it won't be so bad if Agnes wakes.

The nursery room back at her apartment was made up rather roughly when Liz found out she was pregnant, but she's not sure what state it is in now; she is not sure whether Tom moved anything or if anyone else had. She let's her mind drift to Tom and his mother briefly but shakes her head when she focuses too much. It's too strange. She knows he played a part in helping rescue Agnes, but he's not here now, and she doesn't know why. He will have his reasons, she knows. And she knows he will call her soon; Cooper had mentioned he would.

Murmurs from the kitchen begin to grow louder, and Liz steps towards the sound because Dembe has been longer than she expected he would, and she's mildly curious to what the two men are speaking about. Nosy, probably, but if something is wrong, and it's because of her, she wants to know. She stretches her neck, makes sure she holds Agnes close and secure. Dembe's voice travels further than Red's does which is a surprising change.

"She would not have brought her here if she thought otherwise," she hears Dembe say, and Liz immediately tiptoes back to the front door.

She didn't _actually_ think they would be talking about her. Are they talking about her? Her ears burn around the edges. Bring who? Agnes? There's no time to think because Dembe comes down the hall shrugging his thick jacket on and jingling a set of keys in his hand.

He notices the shoes on her feet and raises his eyebrows at her. "Ready?"

"Yes," Lizzie nods, wants to pull him to the side and ask him what he and Red were talking about, but she looks over his shoulder instead.

"Is Red coming? Or?"

"Would you like him to come?"

Lizzie pauses at the question. She nods her head warily.

"If he's not too tired... If he can. If he wants to."

* * *

Agnes sits between both Lizzie and Red in the back seat of Red's car. Liz had removed the car seat Ressler had installed in her car, and quickly set it up in Red's, refusing help from both men. Lizzie knows something is going on. Red, as flamboyant as he was exiting the kitchen and standing in the driveway, is now quiet. As he stares out the window all Liz can see is the back of his head, and the arch of his neck. The right side of his body is pressed close to the car door which leaves plenty of space between him and her daughter.

He has yet to look at Agnes.

"Do you like her name?"

Red turns slowly, widens his eyes a little as if her question surprises him.

"Agnes," she says.

Red nods, understanding her need to talk, and he straightens himself as he shifts his body in her direction.

"It's a lovely name, Lizzie. It suits her."

"Sam's grandmother. Did you know that?"

"Yes."

Red finally looks down at Agnes.

"Sam always told me stories about her," Liz continues. "I met her once, but I can hardly remember. She died a few months later, but Sam talked about her so often."

Red nods his head. They both watch as Agnes' eye's flutter open for a short moment. Liz sniffs for no other reason than she's incredibly emotional tongiht, and wipes her sleeve across her eyes again. Red lifts his head at the sound Liz makes in the back of her throat.

"Do you think it's strange I feel no connection to Masha?"

"I don't feel anything..." she adds when Red fails to respond.

Red tilts his head towards her. "You've been called Elizabeth for the majority of your life. You were so young when you were called Masha. It's not at all strange, Lizzie."

Lizzie leans in closer. She hesitates and looks down at Agnes. She whispers quietly when she speaks. She knows Agnes is only a baby, won't understand her, but Lizzie wants to be strong for Agnes.

"Sometimes I don't even feel like Elizabeth anymore."

"Lizzie," Red breathes.

"I know. I know it sounds ridiculous. I just think that sometimes... It feels like I'm completely derailing. After being called Masha for weeks... and being _dead_ as Elizabeth Keen. Having a funeral. I don't even know who I am anymore."

Red reaches out and pulls apart the hands clenched in her lap.

"A lot of people know you as Elizabeth. As Agent Keen, or Liz... your friends know you, Lizzie." Red responds. "And those are the important people. The ones that matter. The ones who love you and care for you unconditionally. You are Elizabeth to them. To Agnes. And you're _not_ derailing. You just need a good rest and sleep and answers."

"Elizabeth is a nice name," Dembe adds from the front.

A smile grows on Red's face as he looks up at the rearview mirror. He bobs his head and tilts it to the side as he looks at Lizzie.

"There you go," he says.

"Thanks Dembe." Lizzie grins, her mood brighter at his sweet words, at Red's comforting words. She looks back at Red and raises her eyebrow at him. He huffs warmly, leans back in his seat and waves his free palm casually before him.

"You know I've always been fond of _Lizzie_."

* * *

 

When Dembe pulls over in an empty park outside her apartment, Lizzie presses her nose against the cool window. Wow, she thinks. Finally, she is back. A little worse for wear but she is in a much better position and frame of mind.

Red gives her a moment to herself once the engine is turned off then asks her:

"Do you mind if Dembe goes in first? It is perfectly safe," he assures her. "But if-"

"That would be good," Lizzie interupts gratefully, passing Dembe the keys. "I would like that."

Red nods while Dembe leaves the car, and they both watch him dissapear through the entrance.

"Lizzie," Red says when the light in her apartment switches on. "There's some things I would like to... discuss with you. Not now, but soon. Once you and Agnes have settled."

"Okay." Lizzie looks at him. "That sounds good. There's also something... Well there's a lot of things I want to ask... But I need a favor from you. And I know it's a bit off to ask..."

"What is it?"

"I'm worried about Agnes," Lizzie looks down at the girl between them. "I know that Alexander Kirk can't get to us now... But there are other people, right? There has to be more?"

"The immediate threat has been detained. But yes, unfortunately, it's not the end just yet. But I promise you it will be. One day."

"You had someone staying in the apartment next door to me."

"It was purely for your protection. I promise you it was nothing more than that."

"I know that. And I need them again," Lizzie responds. "If you don't mind... I don't want to take any chances. I want Agnes safe 24/7. I don't want anyone near her. Only people _you_ and I trust."

"We can work something out, yes," Red agrees.

"I do trust you with her, you know."

"Of course."

Lizzie frowns. "You don't believe me."

Red gives her a small smile then angles his head to look out the window behind her.

"Everything seems to be in order," he says.

"I'm sorry you don't believe me," Lizzie responds softly. "But I trust you more than anybody."

Dembe opens the driver's door. "Everything is fine," he tells them and slides into his seat. "I left the lights on."

"Everything is safe for you both then," Red nods at Lizzie. "And I'll have that security sorted."

"I know my actions seemed otherwise, but I was scared." Lizzie continues quickly. She stares at Red and the uncontrollable twitch in his cheek muscle. "And I went against you because some times I feel like I _shouldn't_ trust you. Like it's wrong of me to feel the way I do about you. That I shouldn't care for you. But I _do_ trust you. And I care for you much, much more than you think I do."

"So, thank you for the ride," Lizzie says as she gathers Agnes and settles her in the carrier again. "And don't worry about the car. I can collect it myself. I'll get the car seat tomorrow too. Thank you both, though... Alright...Good night."

"Good night Elizabeth," Dembe responds and gives her a wave.

"Night, Lizzie."

* * *

"Lizzie... Wait."

"Red."

He climbs the few stairs between them, and Liz wonders if she has left something behind. But Red holds nothing.

"Dembe has gone to collect next door's key," he says, zipping up the coat on his jacket. "Dembe and I will sleep there tonight. In case you need anything. Just for the night. If it's something that you would be OK with, of course."

"Really?"

"We thought it might be nice for you both - for you and Agnes - to know you have people close by on your first night home."

Lizzie smiles at him, relieved.

"That's really nice of you."

"Shall we?" Red places his hand on her back and leads her up the rest of the steps.

"Hey," Liz wraps a hand around his wrist before they enter her apartment. "Thank you again."

* * *

 


End file.
